Lithium
by impeccableblahs
Summary: His brusque palm drapes to the lap of her inner thigh. His rasping, grating voice lulling in her ear as his tethered fingers brushed idly over her frumpled stocking. "He won't save you," ignoring her whimpers cries he grins. "Not this time." -Hiatus
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Chapter 1

He adjusted the clip of his revolver, a duffle bag draped over his shoulder as he shuffled towards the crumpled mattress. "Come on, Hales, let's get a move on," he muttered. Exhausted he then brushes a hand along her shoulder, a hand running through her tousled hair. "We've got a lot of road to cover, darlin, you can sleep in the car," he murmurs, and lips pressed against the mattress, his sister rolled onto her side in rebuttal.

"I wouldn't bother if I were you."

Dean turned, expectant of the lithe whisper from the other room. In a borrowed flannel shirt and barely buttoned thigh-high denims, his girlfriend stepped through the threshold. Dressed to perfection, with not a follicle out of place, she stooped for her luggage. "Envision it maybe, but the girl could sleep through an Armageddon," she continued. Casting an appreciative glance to her long legs, Dean sighed.

"Let her rest, we'll carry her along with the rest of the luggage," she assured, and Dean nodded. His hand stretching towards his slumbering sister he lobbed the tattered blanket over her shoulder. "Besides, it's the first time in months she hasn't ended up in our bed. Honestly, I'm a little relieved," she explained.

He sighed in recollection of those nights, shoveled between them his innocent sister cradled in his arms. "She's getting worse, Brooke," he exclaimed and threading a hand through the girl's unruly hair, Dean scrubbed a hand over his tired eyes.

"She'll learn to mask them eventually, Dean," she replied, her arms encasing around his middle. Brooke let her fingers curl across the fold of his collar, then onto his cushioned lips as she reasoned. "I know she shouldn't have to," she started, sensing the burn in his throat as he swallowed. She glided her hand absently across his stubble chin as she encases him with her mouth. "None of us should have to, Dean."

"But it won't be like this for long," Brooke whispered, and timed with her words a muffled groan escapes from beneath the beds rumpled comforter. Dean watches his girlfriend as she tilts her head, a sheepish grin befalling her lips. "Give it time," she stated, pushing off his chest lightly, "and I believe that's my queue."

Dean was entranced as she fumbled into the pocket of his jeans. He listened, expression terse as she fumbled for the keys of the Impala. His hand falls to her waist, brow furrowed. "Wait a minute, where do you think you're going?" he questioned. Brooke could have laughed. His protective nature towards that rumbling gas guzzler endearing as it was childish.

"There's a payphone out front," she confessed in a coarse whisper. She leant forward, her warm breath touching his ear. "Thought I might give Nathan a call, it's been over a month," he stiffened, shoulders terse, and nothing his fallen expression, Brooke sighed. "Come on, don't be that way," she coaxed. Her hands rest at his hips as she nudges into him. In his silence, Brooke loosens her hold.

"I know how you feel about him, Dean, I do, but he's my brother. He would never hurt me. He wouldn't."

Moments passed then. His responsive quiet passing over her in waves and seeing that he was nowhere close to embracing the idea Brooke lowered her head. Standing next to him, pressed against his chest as if to hide her disappointment, she exhales. "Brush a comb through her hair, would you?" she asked, and he nods, untangling from her grip.

"He wouldn't hurt you either," she whispered under breath. Hand reaching forward Brooke curls a finger through his hair. "Be careful with our carry-on, she's skin and bones." She kisses his cheek, starting for the door.

"I'll see you soon," she called. Purse slung over her shoulder, Dean listens to the clutter of her heels as she stepped through the threshold, the door creaking to a close behind her.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: Thank you so much for those willing to take the time to review and to the person that messaged me, yes, you're right. Haley's mind is very fragile. I'm going to experience with that more later on in the story—what made her that way, and so on—great guess, lol. Also, to narrow down any confusion, this chapter takes place directly after they left the motel. They met up with a few other hunters you might be familiar with to investigate a job in town that requires multiple hands. They decided to split up in the process. If there's time, drop a comment. I'd love to hear from you. Thanks again.

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**Chapter: Two--**Swiveling the blunt end of her athame, Brooke Penelope Davis took a moments leeway from the brawl to swerve a contemptuous glare in her boyfriend's general direction. His shamefaced, sauce smeared expression staring dopily in return as she heaved a repulsive groan. "Dean, that's disgusting," was her frigid response, and with a breath she adds knowingly, "and Sam hates anchovies."

Mouth stuffed with breadcrumbs and melted gobs of cheese, Dean sighs; indifferent. "I know," he states, "but we don't," that inevitable, shit eating grin was plastered across his chiseled jaw, just as a bellows belch emitted from his lungs. Of course, sensing her disapproval, he soon shrugged in defeat. "Alright, fine. He can have the breadsticks, does that make you feel better?" he asks, thumbing through the page of a withered Cosmopolitan, looking up briefly to catch her gaze.

He loved working her up, and seeing that droll rolling of her eyes, he knew he had succeeded as he watched her trudge over a mound of festering ash. "You're insufferable, you know that?" she cries, plunging the tip of her blade through the scalp of one stumbling, demonic counterpart, as she sighs. Coiling the blade through his festering membrane; spatters blood blotting revoltingly against her sweater as she then twists the knife further, farther; a devilish glint lighting her eyes.

With a pause, both observing the slithering corpse flutter about, Brooke takes a breath, a hand resting at her lip; observing Dean as he brought his bottled root beer close his lips. A definitive smirk lining his expression as he then scanned the article's witty subtitle. His head tilting upward, dangling a lump of breaded cheese and sliced ham to his parted lips as he chortled in amusement; turning the article over, a nodding gesture swooping towards the page. "Hah, look babe. Two weeks to tight cheeks."

Swiping the bloodied portion of her blade against her tattered jeans, Brooke surveyed the cemeteries quiet boundaries, ignoring her boyfriend's laughing banter as she then turns to face him.

"Lovely," she replied, and growing tired of his antics she approached him, taking advantage of the silence as she stepped forward. "You know," a pause and her hand falls to the brim of his jeans. "You could help," smiling briefly at his expression. His eyes wide, cheeks puffed, bread visibly peaking from his lips as he simply cocked his head. Befuddled.

With a shake of her head, Brooke breathes a laugh, her hands fumbling through the clasp of his belt, sliding the knife through the loop of his jeans before stating softly. "Of course, it's a shame there's not much left to help with," she laughs at his stiffened response, loving the affect she had over him as his arm draped around her waist. Tracing a hand up his buttoned coat her fingers stop, wiping the curve of his lip. "Fancy you showing up after all the dirty works been finished, huh, boyfriend?" tracing the hairs on her arm, his thumb brushes her palm with a strangled breath.

"Did I mention how sorry I was about that?" he gulped, and she smiles plucking the remaining slice of pizza from his hand, dropping it with a thud on the ground. The magazine soon to follow as his arms fell loosely against her backside.

She pretended to think, considering his question before she smiles. "Hmm. Oh, I'm sure you were getting around to it," she rasps, just as his lips delved against the more sensitive areas of her skin. As she threads her hands through his collar, she grins. "In fact, I think you were going to make it up to me somehow, weren't you?" the scent of engine grease and aftershave pelted her senses, laughing lightly at the feel of stubble brushing her neckline as he nodded brusquely, roaming closer.

"Damnit, Brooke," as his stance melds against her, hands fleeting to her skirt, Dean moans a murmurs response. "God, we're going to hell for this," he moved her back against battered cement, a forgotten tomb laying rest behind them. Coarse fingers threading against her; throwing her leg roughly over his hip.

At his touch, she moans, her nails tugging through his cropped hair, grasping his shirt even tighter as she jerks him forward. "Broken record, babe," as she arches against him she states under a kiss. "We're going to hell for a lot of reasons—"

"Right and corrupting the minds of your little sister wouldn't be one them, now would they, Dean?" and with a gruff clearing of his throat—asserting the throne of most impeccable timing ever—Robert Singer averts his gaze. His hand clamped over a good portion of his niece, Haley's face, the other tugging idly at the crease of his ratted cap.

"Oh, shit!" Brooke's pants, as Dean rustled with the folds of her skirt. "Dean, stop," she swats at his chest with frantic gestures as he meddled playfully with the strap of her blouse; either indifferent or blatantly unaware of Bobby's presence as he laughed.

"Hey, Bobby," of course it would be the first, Brooke thought, cursing him under her breath. "What's going on?" so casual, Dean dipped his head. "Hales," and with a small wave, Haley returns his greeting. Shuffling miserably in one of her brother's thin sweatshirts and torn, elephant slippers. Only fueling Bobby's anger as he looked towards them, making certain Brooke had covered herself before stepping forward. Leering with such glaring demeanor that as he clasped Dean's arm, Brooke half expected it to crunch from the impact.

"Damnit boy, I ought' a ring your neck," Bobby cries, wasting no time as he pelts another brusque tug; swatting the back of his head. Huffing an agitated breath, looking between the two, expressionless, as he wordlessly stooped forward. Pelting Brooke's head as well before growling in response, "Hell, I ought' a skin both your hides," and with clenched teeth, his disbelieving eyes roam towards Dean's box of forgotten takeout. Not hesitating in pelting him a second time, as he groaned. "You damn igits." With pouting lips, Dean rubs his head sorely, Brooke kneeing his side, hushing him from saying anything he might possibly regret as he went to murmur lowly under his breath.

"What was that boy?" Bobby asks, and with a shudders shake of his head, Dean smiles assuring him it was nothing. "Damn right it's nothing." Bobby replied, eyes roaming over the fields of rustling willows, his expression wearied.

The circles under his eyes more noticeable then ever as he turns his head, "They're over here, Ellen," he calls suddenly, casting a glance to his surrogate niece, expression softening as he drapes an arm over his shoulder. "Watch over these knuckleheads for me a minute, would you, darlin'? Your auntie Ellen's damn near blind as a bat. I've got to see to it she finds the clearing alright," with a gentle smile he places a chaste kiss to Haley's temple. Another glare jolting towards Brooke and Dean as he then descends through the cemeteries. Bristling shrubbery following his lead as the three watched him go; his habitual tugging of his cap causing a grin to curve at Dean's lips as he quietly scratched at his brow. Eyeing his little sister, who looked every bit the abandoned puppy as she stood, shuffling idly beneath their gaze.

Her sleeve subconsciously rubbing at her eyes, increasing his need to just fold her into his arms and steal her away from all the evils the world had wrought onto them, as he watched the tips of her shoes grate lightly into the soil. Her bangs falling into her eyes as she frowned; tilting her head upward, expression soft as she states under her breath. "Daddy called," and at her words Brooke could have sworn that for a moment, Dean had stopped breathing.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: This chapter wasn't what I expected. I'm writing it under the heavy influence of narcotics, and bed is luring me in, as I am already in it, and tempted to shut this blasted thing off. But I was adamant on updating before that. Right so, I know I'm going to get a lot of hate for this chapter, as it's primarily Nathan and Lucas. Actually, it's only Nathan and Lucas, but I wanted to get both sides of the story, that way when I brought them together, it could flow into a thriving one thing, and that's totally hot. Oh my god, I'm so tired. Listen, review, and I'll give you a cookie. Thanks again. Next chapter picks up with Brooke and Dean.

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**Chapter: Three-- **"Forgive us, ma'am, for intruding. I hope we didn't take up too much of your time," with his soul bounding eyes, his gentle smile managed to catch her breath, receiving the answer he had wanted, as he folded his badge into the slip of his coat pocket. "Take care, miss." Shuffling past her, tipping his head in goodbyes; Lucas Roe scrutinized the halls, his shoes scuffing the linoleum, searching for any signs of secreting sulfur, or traces of demonic foreplay as his grimaced expression met his partner.

"Nothing, are you sure read the coordinates right?" with his eyes adjacent to the wavering scent of cinnamon buns that steamed fresh from his friend's palm, Lucas rolled his eyes. "Absolutely nothing," he said a second time, knowing there was a fair chance that he had as he watched him lick at the frosting.

"Man think positive, it wasn't all for nothing," was Nathan's gluttonous retort, his expression waning seriousness, a smearing of frosting curled at his lip, bread padded against his cheek as he stated quite plainly. "She had nice buns," turning his head, suckling his thumb, moaning at the decadent taste, he chewed admirably. Offering the woman an appreciative wink; stretching in a bounding step towards his 1965 Plymouth Fury Convertible.

She was a beauty, streaming in a dark blue coating, with a thin white lining shedding down its middle. Along with gorgeous metal sheeting that aligned the front bumper, with double-schemed headlights, and a set of pink dice hanging from the mirror, courtesy the ever so contemptuous, Brooke Davis.

Sliding over the hood of his car, thumbing with his keys as he struggled to balance his treats, Nathaniel Davis steadied his cell phone to his ear, holding it with his shoulder as he continued to felt for his keys. "Rachel, yeah it's me," he murmured, tilting his head towards Lucas who had since then hopped over into the passenger seat, watching him idly before fumbling with his seatbelt. "He's right here," he added, grinning at something she had said, before lucratively sliding his door open. Stepping inside and cranking the engine with a delicate brush to the steering wheel as he posed a sigh. "Succubus case was a bust, just another dementia love affair with a bottle of Viagra," looking to Lucas who could only shake his head at his detailed description, Nathan put the car in reverse, smirking at Rachel's response. "I know, just your luck."

Wasting no time he delved into his pocket, unfolding a leather booklet, the pages weathered with time, crumpled with a scribbles scrawl of memories. "Listen, we need you to relocate with Jo, tell her there was a breach in the system somehow," at his words Lucas turned. "No, I know you're never wrong, but this is John we're talking about, and he wouldn't send us false readings like this. That's the third town this week," Nathan exclaimed, raising his visor as he tossed a crumpled napkin into the arid winds. Staring into his rearview mirror as it floated onto the muddied trails.

"After you transmit I want you to shut your phone off," he listened to her bicker, imagining her perfected eye roll as he sighed. "I know, but even the slightest chance of a bug, and you're sending a direct signal to them, we both are, so just pull out your battery, and wait for us there, understood?" Nathan waited for her smart retort, knowing it was on the verge of biting from her glossy lips, and surprisingly enough he was thrown a loop when she disconnected.

His brow furrowing considerably before he shut his phone; tossing it to Lucas as he drove passed the state lines. "We're making a pit stop, payphones up ahead, and I have to take a leak," tossing his phone out the window, Lucas nodded, watching it crush against the pavement before turning up the stereo.

Moments passed, the flickering street lights passing them by, blurring into a fixture of lights and noise, a kaleidoscope of colors and shapes, as he sped past a withered farm house and wayward cattle. Before long Lucas had cleared his throat, "You need to tell her Nathan," was his rasping response. "She deserves to know."

Claiming confusion, Nathan furrowed his brow, "Trust me, with Rachel there's a strictly don't ask, don't tell policy," he replied, referring to their friendship as he breaths a laugh.

"You know who I'm talking about," was his partner's sudden response. "You're going to die, Nathan," as his words filtered from his mouth, Nathan's eyes flickered to the speedometer, the time calibrating next to it. "They've going to come for you, they're going to tear you apart," limb by limb, he thought, remembering the engraved insignia of the tomb they had studied, the flickering light of the clock against the falling sunset proving ever the incessant reminder that lay ahead of him as he fought to push away his thoughts.

"She deserves to know, Nathan," he grunted miserably, "they both do—"

"We all die eventually, Luke," Nathan interrupted, avoiding his eyes as he passed another beating red light. Swallowing the lump forming in his throat, as he turned his eyes to the static hum proceeding through his speakers, "Hales she's different now, she's been hurt so much, she wouldn't understand," he leered at him quietly.

"But they deserve to know, Brooke deserves to know," Lucas clenched his fist, jaw twisting in a repetitious tightening as his gaze lunged towards his partner. "She's your sister-"

"Exactly, Lucas, she's my sister. Not yours, not theirs, she's mine. She's mine damnit, and this is my problem, so shut the hell up," he pushed the pedal lightly. "Goddamn static," looking towards the glove compartment, pulling a set of old cassette tapes he blindly shoved one in. Soft, uprising of a classic beat creeping to play as he shrugged his shoulders. "It's my problem," he murmured lowly, gripping the wheel.

His nerves trembling against the quiet they had made, the music blaring between them as they drove; still none the louder as the tension cut between them. Pressing the pedal harder, the both of them knowing that time was running out; knowing that he had to tell them. He would have to.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: Just another short filler chapter, because I felt guilty for the lack of Dean/Brooke in the last chapter. I hope if you're kind enough that you would take the time to review both chapters but just one is really all I can ask for, lol. Thanks again for all the great responses so far. Please keep them up? Pretty please *applies the cherry on top threat*

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**Chapter: Four-- **Joanna Harvelle, courtesy of the ever so thoughtful, overly assertive opinions of her mother, would have been better off secluded in the depths of a plastic bubble. Forever inclined to doing absolutely nothing, but faxing data to other hunters, coordinating mission plans, serving beer to the locals, or fending off spiders from the ever jaded, but ever so sweet, Haley James Winchester.

However, minus the bitter qualms and the sweetened brew of her friend stirred in the mix, Jo wanted more, and trailing behind her mother she stated precisely so with a mulling, moaning sigh, "This isn't fair you know," she held envelopes, discretional possession of the victims, the rumored positions of demonic playgrounds, wrapped tight in her arms, while her mother holstered a semi-automatic dipped with rock salt, a lethal scythe clipped hanging from her hips; sporting a leaded, double-barreled shotgun, her eyes leering towards the ground ahead of them as she went.

Needless to say, their artillery had been altered somewhat over the years; upgrading to a more fashionable, more noticeably lethal form of destruction as their new technician, Millicent Huxtable, the carbon copy of a bashful Bambi with a devilish grin of a sadistic Rambo, came to meet their assistance. Brought to them in part by Nathanial, as Ellen Harvelle had insisted upon calling him, who had suggested her skills to them years ago, having stated she was more than qualified for joining the fold, and without a questioning doubt in her mind she was, Jo thought, watching her mother grip the hilt of her weapon. Smirking at the engraved butterfly insignia, scribbled on the ammunition cartridge; Millie's own little signature eat-shit-grin to the demonic baddies she would never herself have the courage to pillage.

"Epiphany I had sometime after your father passed," Ellen started with a grunt, shuffling over a fallen tree limb, quietly gaining her composure as she trekked onward, "Unless you're knee deep in eight to twelve Gin and tonics, nothing aint ever too fair in life." Joanna blinked, gripping her papers at the panging flinch of her mother's words, who having sensed her daughter's hurt, turned her head. "Sweetheart, I've lost too much in this lifetime to lose you too," she whispered, her voice rasping as she took her arm. "Come on, let's find the boys and get the hell out of here." She started forward, linking their hands, her guilt twisting in her stomach as they stepped forward.

"You girls alright?" parting through a thickened shrubbery bush, his hat angled, shielding his eyes, Bobby met them with a grimace smile. "Can't you follow the perdy dots on the map, Ellie? Damn near thought we'd lost you," was his playful chastise. Jo smirking at his words, a smile etching to her lips as he motioned them forward. His hand falling to the small of Jo's back as he kissed her cheek. "Darlin' your mother's getting to be as bad as I am," and she laughed, watching Ellen's eyes tilt in his direction.

"You keep running that mouth, Robert, just see what happens," she threatened, a jesting glare forting her features as she winked. Joanna catching the gesture, watching as they sauntered onward.

"Mildly creepy," she murmured, spotting the clearing ahead of them.

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"Daddy called," and it was as if every morsel in his body, every bone stem, every waking cell had turned to a trembling mush. "He wants to speak with you." At her words he stepped closer, his hands setting against her shoulders, bracing her upward as his lips parted gently.

"Brooke," his eyes peeled in her direction but he wouldn't turn his gaze as he studied his sister's expression. Her erred smile resting on him, her palms clasped together, her voice a murmurs whisper; delicate, calm as she waited for his response.

Beside him Brooke watched her closely, frowning at her tranquil features, her childlike expressions as she tilts her slowly. "Dean, maybe we should call Sam," it was a suggestion, but he had given his orders, and with a look from Dean, she nodded, hurrying towards the Impala.

"Dean, I'm tired," her voice was growing faint, her hands falling, clenching his coat with a whispers sigh as she felt her knees give way; buckling into her brother, his hands draping around her waistline.

"It's alright, I've gotcha," catching her before she could hit the ground, Dean scooped her in his arms. Her feather light weight proving nothing as he hurried towards Brooke, "Hurry, Brooke," his eyes noting her panicked gestures as she shuffled through the glove compartment.

"Damnit, what do you think I'm doing?" she snapped in fired retort, gesturing for him to bring Haley closer as she fumbled with the needle. "God I hate needles, I hate needles," Dean threw her a look, a notion for her to get over it as his free hand pried open the back seat. Setting against the cushioned seats, his sister lapped against him.

"What does this stuff do for her anyway, how does it help?" Brooke asked, tapping the needle, releasing the air from the tip as she murmured soothingly to the whimpering girl. Hushing her gently as her fingers tugged slowly at the belt of Haley's jeans.

"It works like adrenaline; it's something Bobby brewed up, to help her associate reality from," he paused, meeting her eyes, "you know," and Brooke nods, not taking it any further as she injects the needle into her hip. "Shh, sweet girl, everything's going to be alright," her eyes fleeting towards Dean, watching his worried expression as Haley turned in his arms.

"Everything's going to be alright," directing her words towards the eldest Winchester, her fleeting glance told them the others had arrived. His head turning as well, spotting Ellen wearing a running towards the Impala; Jo and Bobby lagging behind, both wearing equally numbing expressions as they shuffling forward.


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Note: So I was going to have this uploaded last night, but I fell into the narcotic afterlife, or in other words, I dropped cold turkey in a mini coma, and slept for twelve hours, so I'll just axe the chatter and get to the point. Here's the next update, and just so everyone's aware, Haley is just a little younger then Brooke. I know she seems very childlike, which is what I want to get across. Something made her that way, along with her illness, but everyone hold tight with that confusion, it'll be explained eventually. Thanks again for reading, and review, please.

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**Chapter: Five-- **"Come on, sweetheart, let me see your eyes," Brooke murmured, her voice urgent as she tapped her cheeks with a light pat. "Dean, look," she said softly, but he had already seen the blood trickling down her nose, pulling her in his arms as gently as he could, tilting her upward as he reached blindly for the cloth held in Brooke's hands.

By then Ellen and Jo were at their sides, Ellen ushering towards the front seat, while Jo bated alongside Dean, on instinct pulling back Haley's hair as she sighed. "She was fine when we separated, what happened?" she questioned, her hand unbinding her own hair as she strung her hands through Haley's matted mane.

"I don't know, Jo, just gives her some air, would you?" he didn't mean to sound so abrasive, and his eyes leered a quiet apology as he sighed. "Thank you," rocking Haley gently in his arms, he looked to Brooke before he mumbles lowly. "We'll phone Sam once we've found a motel for tonight," he caught her gaze and glared back with a grating intensity. "Brooke, he doesn't need this on his shoulders right now, just wait it out for now, and if she gets any worse we'll call him. I promise."

Quietly her hand fell for Haley's pulse, her fingers resting at her wrist, relieved to a hear a steadied beat beneath them as she then nodded. "I'm still calling," and Dean seethed a breath, his hand cupping the cloth that quickly drained with blood, resisting the urge to go after her as he watched her step in strides. "Damnit, Brooke, I said no," and she couldn't care less, naturally, she was Brooke Davis, and as much he loved that about her, it was a certain quality he had wrestled with over the years; loathing more often than loving, as he watched her dial for Sam.

Strumming his fingers through his sister's matted hair, Dean sighed, meeting the gaze of a worried mother hen, Ellen Harvelle as she studied the girl's expression quietly. "Are you sure she'll be alright?" she question, feeling helpless as she watched Haley coil her arm over Dean, fist balled in his hair, then his neck as she murmured softly.

"She'll be fine, she's seen worse, trust me," Dean assured her, his voice unwavering though his thoughts were telling him to panic, to do something more as he sat quiet. Shifting her weight gently, grunting as she was heavier then she had anticipated. Adjusting himself so he were stretched, his back pressed against the side door, his legs drawn against the cushions.

"Are you cold, darlin'?" he said softly, rustling through a bag set against the floorboard. He grunted, one hand clasped tight around her waist as he maneuvered, hand grasping a cotton pink blanket. One of Brooke's he noted, taking in her florescent smell as he draped it over her slender frame. Being sure to cover her toes, covering himself in the process as he then lay his head against the door handle. Cursing the jutting rod that cradled his own neck as he sighed, "Beginning to think you're more trouble than you're worth, angel," he ran his hands through his hair, his statement close to true as he smiled.

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Storming through the room, Samuel Winchester whipped his head, finding his brother, Dean, cleaning the barrel of his shotgun, his free hand draped around a loaded pistol as he sighed. "Damnit, Sammy, what the hell," he rasped, eyes widening as he lowered his gun. "Just so you know, I usually do this naked," was Dean's jesting comment, wagging his brow in efforts to ease Sam's woes, but he was ignored, Sam brushing past his weaponry, throwing his bag to his feet as he turned, eyeing the bathroom idly as he stepped towards the threshold.

"Is she alright, what happened?" and reacting, Dean thrust his leg forward, nearly knocking Sam over as he created a sort of blockade to access. His long legs toppling over, regaining his balance as he clutched the mattress.

"Relax, she's getting cleaned up, alright, Brooke's with her," he set the polished weapon onto the table. Sam with a curt laugh, smiles his shaking at his brother's tranquil nature, "and you're not helping the situation, by the way," Dean noted gruffly, "with the pacing," was his short response, eyeing his brother as he strode the room, back and forth in efforts to calm his nerves. "She's going to be fine, hell she is fine, heard'em laughin a minute ago, hand to the bible," and literally, his hand mopped over a crumpled bible, resting wayward to his bloodied athame as he winked at the irony. "Hallelujah, right?" he remarked, and filing past him, Sam collapses against one of the weathered beds.

Trying to detour the conversation, Dean stretched in his chair. "So how was the rendezvous, nail any hot babes?" and lifting his head, Sam rolled his eyes. "Can we not talk about this now," was his bating retort, not in the mood for whatever coping mechanism his brother had drawled in his pocket as he groaned.

"We have to talk about it at some point, Sammy," Dean replied, "I mean this chastity belt thing you've got going; the whole martyrs kick. Little virgin Mary's raison d'être, it's not good for your libido, dude." Crossing his shoulders he feigned a worried glance. "Frankly, I'm little worried."

At the point of his so called stresses, Brooke stumbled from the bathroom, light pooling into the room as she guided a quiet Haley James into the bedroom. "Come here, sweetie, let's lie down," but her notions were thrown aside as Haley set her eyes against Sam. Smile curving on her lips as she murmured weakly, "You're home."


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Note: Next chapter I plan to have more Nathan and Lucas, and maybe a phone call between two fellow One Tree Hills that might surprise you. Might not though, depending if you know my favorite characters or not. Anyway, I do plan to add more characters to the story, just to mix the genres completely together, as the story keeps building. I know I questioned that at first, but I really think I can handle the workload of more characters. Right so please review, and if you have time leave suggestions, comments, and thanks again for reading, hope you enjoy.

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**Chapter: Six-- **"I missed you, Sam," she whispered against his ear, giggling as he scooped her up in his arms, holding her inches off the ground as he pressed his lip to her hair. "You have no idea how much I missed you," he muttered in her neck, walking with her pressed against his arms, her smile mirroring on his own lips as he cast a glance towards his brother. The gentle hum of Brooke drying her hair heard lightly in the bathroom. The soothing rustling of her feet as the door cracked open, a dimming light seeping into the bedroom, giving him a glimpse of what his life could have been like, had they not chosen the one he had. Simple, perfect, everything he had always wanted with Jessica.

"Hi Brooke," he replies, and tilting her head, she catches the glint of relief in his eyes, smiling at the sudden rush of calm emitting from his pores as she leant against the bed, dragging Dean along with her as he collapsed with a groan. "You two look a little wore for the wear," was Sam's gentle query, and brushing her nails listlessly along Dean's sleeve, nipping at the lent that rested there, Brooke sighed.

"Oh, Dean chipped a nail," with a relentless groan she holds up the tattered finger, blood rimmed dry around the edges as it would appear more than just a chipped nail. In fact it was clear that Brooke had sewn the wound, white gauze wrapped tightly around the mangled finger causing Sam to set Haley gently onto the ground, moving over towards the bed, guiding Haley along with him as he bent to inspect the wound.

"Demonic carnivore decided to make mince meat out of us, a little before or after Dean was munching on anchovies," and with a playful glance Dean retorted with an upturn of his lips, his brow furrowed as he gave a firm slap to her backside. His good hand rustling up her shirt, and with a groan, she minded a glance towards Haley, seeing that she was oblivious as she curled under Sam's long arm.

"Um, hon, can we please not start a b-rated porn flick in front of the children, I thought we talked about this," she jests and Sam scoffs before setting down his bag, falling back against the bed opposite them before patting the mattress next to him.

Watching Haley crawl onto the mattress, his remote in one as he turned the channels quietly, Dean grated a rasping sigh. "Whatever, you know Sammy likes to watch," he jokes, tilting his head as he winked up at her.

"Dean," catching his attention, Haley called him softly, and tilting his head he caught her gaze. "Can I sleep with daddy tonight?" she looked to Dean, her gleaming soul catcher eyes shooting a side glance in his direction, knowing he wouldn't be pleased, and Dean was tempted to tell her 'no', that no matter how delicate she was their father wasn't around, he probably never would be, but her doe brown eyes and her tousled wet hair, it was all too difficult to give the answer he had wanted, and with a breath Sam found himself answering for him.

"You don't want to sleep with me tonight, kiddo," putting on his most suitable of puppy pouts, and cuddling further into him, her head lulled against his chest as she smiled. Content if only just for a moment, and with a grin, Dean motioned towards Sam.

"Samantha always fancies a cuddle, Hales, you know that," and Haley smiled, a gentle laugh breathing from her nostrils as she shut her eyes.

Before Sam could follow up with response Brooke waned in smiling. "Now boys, let's take the pissing contest outside," Brooke replies, her manicured hands crawling at Dean's neck as she massaged the tensed muscles she found. Smiling at Dean, who could be seen attempting to order something along the lines of inappropriate, chuckling all the while slurping his frozen cola slurpee with adequate volume as he sighed. "Same old Dean," she murmured under her breath, eyeing Sam who was flipping through an old manuscript of demonic lures and witchcraft, his head lent against his sister's shoulder. "Same old Sam," Brooke started, rolling her eyes before seeping further onto the mattress with Dean.

Emotional attachments weren't exactly one of her fortes, and to be completely honest she wasn't particularly fond of relationships that exceeded past that of sexual favors. In fact, the only time she had been foolish enough to even try for a relationship was with the eldest Scott brother, Lucas, and despite Haley's futile complaints on the matter, Brooke was thoroughly convinced that he was the biggest mistake of her life.

To trust someone other than herself, other than her family; it had been a big step for Brooke Davis. It had been her most vulnerable and idiotic step yet, and knowing her luck; knowing how the world spins, Lucas Scott had inevitably swept her right off her feet; only afterwards to have her fall flat on her ass, when he left her high and dry at the nearest pressing of drama. Which, go figure, her happily ever after would end in tears. But then she found Dean, or rather, Dean found her, and things weren't so horrible after all. She just hoped she wouldn't lose him. She couldn't have that. Not again. She couldn't bear it.


	7. Chapter 7

Author's Note: Excuse for the delay – none. Chapter dedication – PrettieParker, for being absolutely awesome and helping me get through this chapter. I've had a horrible case of writers block and she's a definite ego booster, lol. Hope you all enjoy, and thanks for reading.

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**Chapter: Seven** - "I'm telling you, Dean, it's not a coincidence that she knew, alright. Dad is alive. He has to be." Jo listened quietly, her hands strumming through Haley's hair, waning in disbelief as Dean looked on, shaking his head. Just as dumbfounded as she was, watching Brooke standing next to him, her own feelings for Dean being pushed aside as she watched him thumb his fingers against her.

"Damnit, Sammy, don't start this crap again. Dad's gone, and so is she, alright," he kept his voice low, the undercurrent of a stressing rise tugging on his rasping tongue. "There's nothing we can do to help her now, you know that." Unwavering he looked his brother in the eyes. Looking towards Jo, his glance caught his sister. Her fingers tracing intricate designs on Jo's sweater as she hummed quietly. "She's gone."

"You went to hell and back for me, Dean. You risked everything," Sam stated his words so simply, shrugging a laugh at the expense of the irony. "But for her it's too late; just another lost cause, right?"

"Dean," Brooke warned, clutching Dean's arm, knowing his temper, knowing his rigid stance all too well, as he all but charged his little brother; thrusting him up by his collar as he pulled him towards him.

"Don't you talk about her like that, do you understand me?" his knuckles turn a beat white as his free hand tightens at his side and Sam smiles; grinning through the barren grasp against him as he throws up his hands.

"You won't try for her, and it's not because you're scared, or that you're worried what might happen, what might not," Sam ignored the tightened hold as he muttered through a grimace. "It's because you know, don't you?" his eyes tear as he takes hold of Dean's wrist. "Tell me, Dean, tell me the truth. For once, stop protecting me."

"Tell me what really happened."

Oblivious to the conversation Haley smiles, hand brushing against Jo. "You'll find him broken," a blink and she was in Jo's limelight, Dean out sight as she fell against the younger woman's gentle eyes, the boys conversation fading from her mind as her hand scathed over her Jo's heart. Haley's other hand running against her palm as she whispered softly, "Have to mend the pieces." Joana shut her eyes, breathing a laugh at the girl's whimsical banter as she then braces her shoulders.

Jo skimmed her eyes towards the boys, noticing Dean's qualms had simmered as he released his brother from his grasp. Thumbing the girl's hand, Jo sighed."Right, and on that note, kiddo, I think it's time for your medicine. Come on, sweetie," she shuffled slowly to her feet, eyeing Dean who quietly met her attention as he sighed, hand ruffling his collar as he motioned for Haley.

"There's my girl," he gave a soft smile; sheathing over his worries as he then outstretched his arm. He groans playfully as Haley trudges towards him, smiling tiredly as she buries herself in his arms. He gave a look to Sam, indicating that their conversation was over before melting in his sister's arms. He chuckled as a rasping sigh as she pulled Brooke into their embrace. "God this is so partridge family," he murmurs playfully, and looking to Jo he smiles.

"Thanks again for coming. We won't be long, I promise," and in turn, Jo nods, the eyes of the three standing before her causing her to tense as she fumbles with her father's knife.

"Hales is good company. It's no trouble," though to be a bit more than truthfully honest, she had hoped to go along with them; her craving for the hunt pulsing through her veins. Though someone had to watch after the girl, and with Brooke abiding as Dean's pocket carry-on, Jo was all that was left to do their bidding. She just wanted something more, something apart from humming quiet lullabies, or being sure that Haley slept through the night. Jo wanted more; she wanted everything that her father had sought for. She wanted the fight, she wanted the danger…  
"You boys play nice," she mentioned, casting a sisterly glance towards Dean, who only hugged Hales tighter.

She wanted vengeance.

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He smothers in silence, the hilt of his enemy's blade plunging from his neck, as he gurgled in repetition of his guilt's, his sorrows, but no one was listening. No one even feigned a glance, not even the rustling of leaves, or the grating whispers of those that surrounded them were there to accompany him as his enemy emerges to a hovering stance; spitting on his writhing corpse, murmuring through the silence.

His boot drudged against his chest, numb against the screaming infant bundled beside them as he turned his head towards the child. Barely a grimace lighting his lips as he then murmured under breath; turning the hilt of the blade, twisting it with an intrepid crunch before he muttered in response. "Trust me kid," he rasped through a cough, smearing blood against his brow as the sweat dripped from his pores. "Your daddy had it coming."

"Owen you have to get out of there," the shrilling voice of Millicent pierced through his earpiece. He shrugged off his sweater, tossing the grimed fabric to the ground, slapping with a drenched thud as it was draped in blood, as he steps towards the threshold.

"As milady wishes," as he casts a final look to the crying infant, Owen Morello sighed. Knowing that there had been no other option, that he done the right the thing.

He had done the right thing, he told himself. There had been no other option, he cried, hearing the child's cries as he stepped into his vehicle. "Where to next?" he questioned, hearing static in response before Millie muttered in response.

"Nathan called, he's meeting up with Julian," a pause, and more static interrupts them, filling the silence as he revved up the engine. "Owen, we're in trouble."


	8. Chapter 8

Author's Note: Just a short filler chapter to show us where Nathan and Luke are in the story. We're getting closer to their joining with the Winchesters, as well Julian as the story progresses. Just be patient, and more Dean/Brooke on the way. Please review, it inspires me to write more, and I'm really in a hole right now, writers block is killing me. Thanks again.

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**Chapter: Eight-** "I heard we're in trouble," balancing a bean burrito smeared with hot sauce and jalapeños peppers, Nathan Davis, the ever precedent bottomless pit, chuckled at Millicent's slight exaggeration as he munched on his food quietly. Wiping the corners of his lips as he listened carefully over the phone's static reception, "In fact, the way our girl puts it, we're sort of up shit creek, man, care to fill me in," Owen repeated, calibrating their discussion over in his mind as he ticketed out the weighing balance of troubles. "Did John really call?" he added under his breath, and Nathan grimaced over the other line, setting his food aside, to grip his gun as he slid off the clip, unclasping the hinge as he prepared to holster in another cartridge.

"He did, but we're not worried about it, at least not right now," Nathan stressed, brushing the exterior of his weapon as he sighed; his eyes roaming idle towards the creaking door, as Lucas delved in with a look of exhaustion wearing on his countenance. "Listen, Luke's here, I'll be in touch soon," he shut off the phone, veering his head as his partner slipped through the door. "You're late, how did it go?" he questioned, blood marring his partner's shirt as he trudged through the padded floorings.

As Lucas ignored him, Nathan continued casually, knowing too well the result of his partner's confrontation, "Shut out case in Colorado, Owen called," Nathan informed; watching as Lucas fumbled with the buttons of is suit. "He managed to kill around two, maybe three dozen, but it was a close call," listening Lucas tilts his head, loosening the knot of his tie as he trudged over towards one of the rumpled mattresses. "Skills, he um, he didn't make it," he added under his breath, earning a trodden nod in response. Their faces ashen at the prospect of their friend, mangled by the very thing he hated most.

"Rachel's with Bevin now. She's got to her to sleep at least, got some food in her," for a while she wouldn't eat, Nathan thought, cursing under his breath at the loss of their dear friend. "Said a pair of locals spun him for a fool, but I know Skills, something's not right," Lucas nods, trodden in his grief as he brushes a hand over his tired eyes.

"You'll call Brooke," Lucas motioned, the bridge of his nose pinched as he felt the wining ache of a migraine catching on.

"It'll break her heart, its best she doesn't know," Nathan inclined, belittled at the thought of hurting his baby sister as he brushed a trudging hand over his brow.

"I just killed my mother, my uncle, my baby sister," Lucas pressed, ignoring the dejected look he received as he started for the restroom. "You'll call her, than you'll call Julian," he added lowly. "I've had enough of this war. It's time we've ended it.


End file.
